Palimpsest
by xlympus
Summary: A young goddess finds herself in the middle of not one but two wars. Quorra's story aligns with the ending of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series and the whole of the Heroes of Olympus series. Additionally, the latter will have a major rework of the final book (as it was the ultimate anticlimax.) Rated M for language, violence and sexual content. Rewrite of A God's Eye View.
1. Chapter 1

So, yes. This is the promised rewrite of A God's Eye View. While I know I'll never be happy with it, I think I've worked out a better plot line and (hopefully) have developed the characters more fully. Thanks and enjoy!

* * *

As if it couldn't get any metaphorical than it already was, the beginning of my story starts with a makeover. No, I'm not talking about some sort of personality reconfiguration or a "new me" outlook. I'm talking about a literal makeover. And while a makeover in itself, no matter how cliched, can be "beautiful" and "life changing," this was the exact opposite. This was a do-it-yourself makeover and those never end well.

If hair bleach was a house guest, it would be the most inconsiderate. It's stinging smell had made a home in my lungs after wiping its feet on my antique rug–my nose–and leaving its dripping umbrella in the foyer–my hair. In the past several hours, I had gotten to know bleach on a more personal level, as we spent many grueling minutes razing the color in my hair. Bleach, condition, dry. Bleach, condition, dry. No breaks or pit stops. Just bleach, condition, dry.

Patience is not one of my virtues. However, spontaneity, in its complete and exact essence, is.

After five or so short hours, I became the Extra Light Natural Blonde 02 I had originally set out to be. And with that achievement came the regret and embarrassment, joining the party like more unwanted house guests. In its metaphoric entirety, this experience was the house party to end all house parties: the one that got you grounded for life.

I quickly shoved the remaining evidence deep into trash can after I had secured my hair neatly into a beanie. I jogged down the stairs, muttering a series of _shit_ 's as I touched down on each step. The door swung open as I reached the bottom and yelled the last _shit_ with heroic finality.

He stared down at me, less surprised than I expected. Less emotion-ed than I expected. Red streaked the whites of his eyes and the bags underneath looked like bruises. Even if I hadn't been able to take the hint, the not-so-subtle frown would've clued the most oblivious of oblivious in. "What's wrong?" I asked.

He let his shoulders sink as he sighed, "Broke up with Eos?" It was phrased as if maybe, just maybe that was the reason he was upset.

And yes.

Eos.

The goddess of dawn.

Daughter of Titans and mother of winds.

And the man before me had broken up with her.

Scratch that.

He wasn't a man.

He was a god.

"Apollo, what the hell? I thought you liked her."

He closed his eyes and pushed further into the house, weaving his way around me and throwing himself onto the couch in the living room. His long limbs dangled off the sides pathetically.

"Why?" I prodded.

"I just wasn't feeling it."

"You weren't _feeling_ it? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't like her anymore."

I crossed my arms over my chest and sat down on the coffee table in front of him. "Well, I get that. But… You broke up with her on the night of the Winter Solstice. That's like breaking up with someone the night of Senior Prom–"

"Come on. You should be on my side–"

"Why should I be on _your_ side?"

"Because you're my friend and you should support my decisions."

"You're real funny, Apollo..." I sat down on the coffee table and stared down at him. The aura of intelligence, wit and, most importantly, arrogance that he carried around with him was gone. He looked tired and confused. Deflated. "How'd you do it?"

"Do we have to talk about it?"

"Yeah, we do."

He huffed and threw his arms out further beside him. "I told her that I thought we should break up, because I wasn't into her and I didn't think it'd be a good idea to keep pretending like I was."

"Then what?"

"Do I have to go into this?" he whined.

"Apollo."

"Then she asked me how long I had been pretending and I told her."

"And how long was it?"

He brought his fingers back into gaze and began inspecting them like his life depending on it. "Since a couple days after we got together," he mumbled.

"Holy shit, Apollo."

"Oh don't "holy shit" me, Quorra. What was I supposed to do? I can't lie," he snapped. He sat up and pressed himself deep into the back of chair. "Besides, if I had tried to lie, it would've been even worse. It was better that I finished it all at once, like ripping a bandaid off." He mimicked the movement of tearing a bandaid off and made a little _swheep_ sound.

"But still, you had to choose tonight out of all nights to do it?"

"Quorra, I've been to hundreds of these things. It's not a big deal–"

"It is a big deal when people are saying this might be the last one."

He didn't answer me. Instead, he stared at his hands and let the clock on the wall take over the conversation. Tick, tick, tick. "Apollo, what do they mean by that?" I whispered.

"It's complicated, Quorra. Just don't worry about it."

"Well, how can I not worry about it when it sounds like the end of the world–"

"Just leave it alone–"

"I'm not a baby anymore."

In that moment, I knew I sounded more like a baby than I ever had during my stay in Olympus. And I knew he was thinking the exact same thing, as he stared at me with an obvious look of pity on his face. His light blue eyes scanned my face over several times before he dropped the look. Instead, his gaze rested two inches above my eye line with an eyebrow raised. "What's under the hat?"

I felt my cheeks flush and my heartbeat stutter to a halt. As I reached up to pull the beanie further down, he lunged forward to pull it off. I put up only an ounce of fight: he had me outweighed by tons, in weight and skill. There was no use in trying to stop him. As he tore the hat from my head, the embarrassment returned for a second visit. I felt the blonde curls spring from their trap and fall into my face.

"Holy shit, Quorra," he laughed.

"Hey, at least I got into _my_ mess with the best of intentions."

"Don't play that card," he warned. He gently grasped a curl in between his pointer finger and thumb, pulling it down to test its spring. "Well, it's not horrible," he muttered, watching it bounce back into place.

"Just miserable," I sighed, settling my cheeks into my hands.

"Once Aphrodite's done screaming about set up for Solstice, maybe she can help you out," he grinned.

I tried to swallow the embarrassment down further, where it could no longer wreck havoc on my nervous system, but every time I met his gaze I felt it creeping back up my throat. It's not that I wanted to impress him because I had a crush on him or anything. It's that I wanted to impress him, because he was just the type of person anyone would want to impress. He was perfection at its finest. Handsome, talented, composed, and admired. He found a way to handle himself in the worst of situations. If anything, I was trying to impress him so he'd teach me how be like him. How to be comfortable with yourself.

"Will you go with me?"

"Go with you to what?" I stammered.

"The Solstice."

"You do realize that if I go with you, people will think you left her for me."

"We'll go with Hebe and Hermes. It'll be a friend thing."

I rolled my eyes. He sighed melodramatically, batting his long eyelashes at me. "Please, Quorra," he pouted.

"Apollo…"

"Please."

"Why do I–"

"Please."

"Okay, fine," I groaned.

He sprung up from the couch, his frown disappearing almost instantaneously. He took ahold of my cheeks and pressed his lips to my forehead. With his newfound enthusiasm, he announced, "Thank you, my dear." Then, he bounded out of the living room and through the front door.

It slammed shut behind him, rattling the walls and knocking a painting to the ground. I sauntered over and rehung it. It was not uncommon occurrence for him. He had a habit of leading a small whirlwind of destruction behind his sun-shining figure. He was the calm before the storm and I had grown to learn how to pick up after it, just like everyone else here.

I labored up the stairs, the regret growing heavier on my shoulder with every step until I was crawling. When I reached the top, it took me several tries to peel myself off the ground and heave myself into my room. The entire time, my mind chanted _why...why...why...why…_

If _why_ was a person, he couldn't keep his hands off me.

* * *

It wasn't every day that the Lord of the Sun asks you to go to a party with him. It also wasn't every day that he breaks up with his girlfriend. And it also wasn't every day that you decide to bleach your hair into oblivion. If there was a recipe for disaster, I was completely positive that this was the exact formula.

"So he told her that he was never really into her?" Hebe repeated, twirling a strand of red hair around her pointer finger.

"Yeah, basically," I shrugged.

We sat on the same couch Apollo had slung himself onto five hours before. The couch, the living room, the room I stayed in, it was all Hermes'. If Apollo was my Aragorn, Hermes would've been my Gandalf. Hermes, the cute dark haired guy standing in the kitchen, the guy that's always gonna give you a ride home, the guy that's gonna stay up late to help you study for an exam, the guy that's gonna bring you chocolate when Mother Nature is doing her worst. He was the ultimate big brother.

"Holy shit," she whispered, sipping her drink. "I know Apollo's had some bad breakups, but that's just cruel."

"At least he rebounded quickly," Hermes chimed in. He sat down next to her and draped his arm over her shoulder. Though Hebe was technically married, she and Hermes had had a thing going since way before I had ever known them. After all, her husband was in Greece almost permanently and apparently showed no real affection towards her whatsoever. If I was to condone cheating under any circumstance, I would've chosen this one.

"I'm not rebound," I blushed.

He laughed, "Yeah, you aren't exactly his type."

"And what's his type?" Hebe smirked.

"Busty girls who have only one redeeming quality."

"I think Eos has more than one redeeming quality."

Hermes grinned, "Yeah, that's why it didn't work out."

"You guys are real funny," Apollo grimaced. He slammed the door behind him loudly. "And for the record, my type is busty girls who have only one redeeming quality and laugh at my jokes."

Hebe giggled and propped herself up on her tall, toned legs. "Too bad I have more than one redeeming quality. Otherwise, I'd be your girl," she purred. She pulled Hermes along behind her while Apollo's eyes followed her out of the door. After he was met by Hermes' glare, he turned to me and offered his hand. "Let's go."

I'm no party girl, but Olympians are party people. And by party people, I mean they throw the biggest, loudest, most expensive parties on the face of the planet. So big, in fact, that I imagine they would set world records with each one if Olympus was apart of the Earth. Every patio and courtyard in Olympus was decked with gold and silver: chairs, tables, buffets, bars, decorations, etc. In between all the glitz and glam, what seemed like thousands of gods, demigods, satyrs and nymphs were packed together, dancing, drinking and babbling away. In other words, it was my worst nightmare.

As we walked through the crowds, I couldn't decide whether I wanted to vomit or cry. And if I were to do both, which one would I start with, or would it happen simultaneously. Should I get something to drink to get the liquids flowing? Or should I just heave until something happens?

When Apollo's fingers released my hand, I was engulfed by feelings of both freedom and vulnerability. I imagine it was what escaped war prisoners felt like. On one hand, you're free from the hands of your enemy, but, on the other, you're probably in more danger out than in. Either way, it was a lose-lose situation. So, I did what was necessary: I found a table and bunkered down until the war was over.

Unfortunately, in the midst of my social anxiety, I seemed to have forgotten a more important threat. A threat with long legs and sparkling blue eyes. Eos sat down across from me. Her curly, dirty blonde hair was pulled into a bun that sat high on her head. The angles of her cheekbones were almost as sharp as the plunging neckline on her dress. She eyed me coldly. "So you're here with Apollo?"

"Yeah," I nodded, keeping my eye level just below hers.

"So, he left me for you?"

"No."

"Then why is he here with you?" Her voice trembled as she struggled to maintain composure. Tears were budding in the corners of her sapphire eyes.

"I don't know."

She slumped back into the chair, her arms crossed over her chest. "Sure, you don't–"

"Look, I had nothing to do with him breaking up with you. I swear–"

"You swear, huh?" She shook her head incredulously. "I always wondered why he spent so much time with you–why he never wanted to fuck me. But it all makes sense now–"

"Eos, I swear I–"

"You look nice this evening, Eos." Apollo was looming over the table, drinks in his hand. The depression he had been radiating earlier had been turned to steely irritation. As he placed the drink in front of me, she rose to her feet. With her shoulders back and chest puffed out and bare, it almost looked like she wanted to fight. But, as his eyes fluttered down her front, her scowl turned to a snide grin.

"Have fun," she teased as she turned on her heels. Her hips wagged back and forth as she entered the crowd. We watched her grab the hand of a bystander and pulled him along behind her. After she disappeared completely, Apollo's gaze snapped back to me, a grimace etched deep into his face.

"Come on. Let's go," he sneered.

I followed him along like a lost puppy as he marched away from the party. We rode down the elevator in silence, walked down the street in silence, jumped a gate in silence, and rested on one of the benches in silence.

We had been staring up at the stars, our backs pressed to the concrete seating, when he spoke. "Do you ever feel like you just can't stop fucking up? No matter how hard you try its just fuck up after fuck up?"

"Yeah," I whispered.

"Well, I'm goddamned tired of it. I'm goddamned tired pretending like I don't care. I'm goddamned tired pretending like I'm better than I am. It's fucking exhausting and I'm sick of it." He pointed up at the stars. "See that motherfucker right there? Orion? Yeah, I killed him–No, here's the real story. I tricked my sister into killing him. I tricked my sister into killing the only man she ever loved because I was jealous that she was spending more time with him than with me. Tell me that's not fucked up. Go ahead." His hand slapped the concrete as he let his arm fall. "Now I dumped Eos. We're probably gonna die soon. I don't know what was stupider: dumping her or getting into a relationship in the first place. At least in Tartarus it won't matter. I'll be suffering too much in my own personal hell to even remember." In his hand, a beer bottle shimmered into existence and he raised it to his lips.

I listened to him gulp and then the clink of glass on the concrete. As the alcohol entered his system, his body relaxed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," he sighed.

"It's fine," I mumbled.

I felt him watching me as I listen to him take another sip. "Your turn."

"My turn what?"

"Your turn to complain."

I took a deep breath and paused to think for a minute. What did I have to complain about? I had a lot to complain about. But what could I complain about that wasn't going to get too intense? "I fucking hate this place."

"New York?"

"No, Olympus, Atlantis. This bullshit life. I hate the Greeks for ever coming up with this shit. I hate the Olympians. I hate the Gods. Everyone's a stuck up cunt with no substance. No, scratch that. The only substance they have is self-adoration. Everyone's a liar too. Goddamned fucking liars. All they care about is themselves and they're going to trample you if you get in their way. I fucking hate it."

Apollo took another sip of his beer. "You'd thinks the Greeks would've come up with more admirable gods, you know?"

"Yeah, instead they came up with fucking Keeping Up With the Kardashians."

He laughed, "That's good." He took another sip. "If we're getting technical, though, I think the Greeks came up with such a messed up group of gods because they wanted to feel better about their own messed up lives." He examined his beer bottle. "Sometimes I wonder if the things we do–the things I do–are somehow programmed into us. Like if I'm supposed to be some sleazy piece of shit, if it's in my blood. There are a lot of times when I do things, bad things, and, as I'm doing them, it feels as if I can't stop myself." He tapped his bottle on the seat. "You're not like us. You're a good kid, Quorra. I'm sorry you got pulled into this shit."

I shrugged, "It's not that bad."

"Don't feel bad about what you said. You're right–"

"If I was right, I don't think you'd be sitting here telling me I was," I muttered.

"Just because we're stuck up cunts doesn't mean we're not aware of it."

"Well, you're not as bad as the others."

His laugh was over-exaggerated and bitter. As he turned to me, his blue eyes shone grey in the moon light. "If you don't think I'm as bad as the others, then you must not know me."

"Then how come you're one of the few who are nice to me?"

He stood up and walked to one of the small garden areas that the High Line was covered in. The shrubs were overgrown and looked like tangled spiders legs creeping onto the sidewalk in the moonlight. "I can tell a sad person when I see one."

* * *

I don't remember exactly how the rest of the night went. The conversation, after that moment, veered into safer territory that I had no need to retain memory of. We got back to Hermes' around one or two in the morning and collapsed on the couch in defeat.

I woke up to the sound of a pinball machine. The _brrring_ of the ringtone had invaded my dreams, bringing me to a jolting start as the dream bullets hit my dream body. Before I could reach out and answer it, the hand on the couch across from me swiped it off the coffee table.

"Hello?" Apollo answered. His pointer finger rested on his bottom lip. "Oh, hey, Triton," he teased. "How are you?" His teeth peeked out from under his top lip and bit down delicately into the soft flesh of the lower. "Yeah, she's here," he purred. His eyelashes fluttered as his hand trailed away from his lips and rested at the back of his neck, his bicep half flexed. "Yeah, okay. I'll talk to you later."

After he finished flirting with my brother, he handed the phone to me. "It's your brother," he whispered playfully.

"Triton?" I answered, putting my ear to the phone and ignoring Apollo's sultry grin.

"Quorra."

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Did you sleep with Apollo?"

"No," I snapped. "Is that what you called for–"

"No. I called because we need you–Dad wants you to come home. I have some business to finish down here, but I should be able to be up there by midday. So pack your things–"

"Woah. Woah, Triton. Wait a minute. You can't just–Why?"

"Things are getting complicated, Quorra. He needs you down here–"

"He needs me now? He didn't seem to need me much when he dropped me off here–"

"Quorra, I'm not the one you should be complaining to. I'm just doing my job. Be ready by noon. I'll see you soon." The line went dead on the other end as soon as he was done speaking.

I threw the phone to the end of the couch and sighed heavily, "I'm going to explode."

"What's up?" Apollo asked, peeling himself from the leather on the couch. He finished unbuttoning his shirt as he walked into the kitchen.

"My dad's gonna kidnap me," I mumbled.

He frowned as he pulled out a pan and rummaged through the fridge. "Why?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. I joined him in the kitchen and sat on one of the bar stools. If you have never had the pleasure of watching a toned Sun god make you an omelet at 9:30 in the morning, you are missing the experience of a lifetime. He placed the omelet onto a plate and handed it to me. "I've got a question."

"And that is?" he murmured.

"Can't you just summon up an omelet? Why do you guys always do things like normal people?"

"So you're saying I'm not a normal person?"

"No."

He nodded, "Fair enough." I was mesmerized, watching all the muscles in his body flex as he whisked the eggs together. I would've probably started drooling if he hadn't continued to speak. "I guess we do it because we like the process. There's a sense of skill that goes into these things. Plus it feels nice to do things for people. It means a lot more that I'm actually making this for you instead of snapping my fingers, right?"

"Yeah," I chewed, trying to focus on my plate.

"Besides, think of it as a parting gift."

"Oh, wow. An egg and cheese? How thoughtful of you," I gasped sarcastically.

"First of all, that's egg, cheese and chives. Second of all, I can take that back if you don't want it."

I shoved another bite into my mouth. "No, I'm good," I mumbled.

The smile he was wearing seemed to die a few seconds after he had placed it there. "Be safe, Quorra. Alright?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He watched the egg sizzling in the pan intensely. His fingers tightened his grip around the spatula as he waited. His other hand sprinkled the shreds of cheese and chives that fluttered down onto the egg like heavy clumps of snow on an icy lake. He shook his head slowly, "Nothing. I'm just being…"

"You're just being?"

His grin was forced. "I'm brother-ing you. Now go get packed."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: In my English Comp class, we were banned from introducing our work with the disclaimer. However, I feed the need to add one into this chapter, so here it goes:

Disclaimer: I don't really like this chapter, as it is a transition chapter and an introductory chapter. I also am not a fan of my execution of the chapter overall. However, I'm not a big fan of the content itself anyway so I'm not going to rewrite it. Currently, I'm working on the third chapter and things are going to be a bit more exciting and eventful soon. I promise.

* * *

His hair was dry. His clothes were dry. The only thing that wasn't was the bottoms of his shoes, which squeaked on the hardwood floor as he slipped inside. Outside, the thunder shook the clouds around us, rain falling in heavy sheets.

My brother, just like about every other god in the entire damned realm, was very tall. While my perception of tall might've been slightly warped, as I was only about average height for a woman, Olympian height was in a world of its own. No guy, with the exception of a few, was shorter than 6'. No girl shorter than 5'9". For a 5'3 ¾" pipsqueak, I was walking among giants.

Aside from height, my brother and I looked more alike than any of our other siblings. Same eyes, same nose, same lips. If anything, I probably looked like what he looked like when he was a baby, when his face was still round, his cheeks full. On the flip side, there were a lot of differences as well. He had my father's smooth, jet back hair and his skin was tinged light green. Not to mention, personality-wise we were almost complete opposites.

He ignored the bags I threw down at his feet and my greeting of "Hey, bitch." I would've assumed he was ignoring my entire existence if I hadn't followed his line of sight. The glare he wore 99% of the time was directed towards the top of my head, towards the only thing that got me attention anymore. "What the hell did you do?" he sneered.

"Had fun," I sneered back, shoving my bag into his stomach.

I pushed past him and swung the door open. A wall of vapor flew into me, covering me in a fine coat of mist that rolled almost immediately off my skin and onto the floor–Poseidon child magic. I marched through the thicker, harder layers until it got hard to see, until I was completely lost in downpour and the ground began to slide underneath me. No matter how water resistant my skin was, it felt like the rain was soaking me to the bone.

An umbrella spanned out above me as I was struggling down the steps. Triton and his grimace loomed over me, both unamused. "This is going to take fucking forever," he mumbled as he led me forward.

The luggage slammed me out from under the umbrella multiple times as we blindly trudged through the storm. When we saw the elevator, we made a run for it, practically throwing ourselves into the tiny metal box. The luggage and umbrella grew puddles beneath themselves as the doors sealed and Triton pressed the button for the ground floor. Throughout the ride down, he stared at the numbers ticking away. "So what's up?" I asked, drumming my fingers against the metal railing.

Silence.

"Are you just going to ignore me?"

Silence.

"Are you mad at me?"

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall. "Quorra, I'm not in the mood."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just have no time for you bullshit questions today."

"Okay, fine."

Triton wasn't a bad brother. He just wasn't a good brother. He wasn't a good listener or a good talker. He was a good protector, but that was only if he wasn't mad at you. He didn't really understand the concept of limitations, physical or emotional, but he sure as hell could motivate you to do just about anything. He wasn't a bad brother. He was just a better coach.

The rain wasn't as harsh down on the ground. Normally, it took about twenty minutes to get to the Hudson, but in this downpour it would've taken way longer. We caught a cab. Triton sat in the front, deserting me and my conversation skills in the back. I watched the back of the cabbie's head turn every other second to check the fare, his hands twitching at the wheel.

The back of the cab was cramped, especially with the amount of luggage Triton had tossed carelessly onto my lap. One of those small television screens was planted into the lower part of the partition. I placed my backpack in front of it after the same talk show segment began to air another time. My eyes wandered to the plastic information card that was stuck onto the back of the cabbie's seat. The driver's name was Jean Diallo and the cab was due for inspection in about two months. I leaned forward, putting my lips close to the plastic partition. "Where are you from, Mr. Diallo?"

He glanced back quickly and answered, "I'm from Mali, Miss."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes. Two brothers and a sister."

"Are you the oldest?"

"No, Miss. I'm the youngest."

"Do you get treated like a baby a lot?"

"Sometimes."

"I'm the youngest, too. I get treated like a baby 24/7 and it really gets on my nerves."

"That is unfortunate."

"Yeah, especially with my older brother. You know, he's supposed to be my mentor and stuff and all he does is treat me like I'll never be good enough."

"I understand that feeling, Miss."

His hands weren't so tense on the wheel as he pulled to the curb. When we slipped out, Triton handed him some cash and we thanked him. Then, he was gone, disappearing into a sea of other cabs and cars.

Our footsteps thumped across the empty pier. Triton casually tossed my bags over the edge and then jumped in after them. That was his style: nonchalance. Not a hint of sentimentality. Not hanging around to watch the lights of the cars glitter underneath the downpour. Or to look up at the buildings climbing towards the clouds, where the gods lay, wreaking havoc on the world below. Or to gaze at the pedestrians running through the rain, feet slick on the pavement, umbrellas blooming.

"Quorra, come on."

I padded towards the edge of the pier. The water beneath me bounced up and down, spraying into the air. I took one more glance at the city. One more glance at the clouds. As I fell into the rocky waves, I felt myself wishing, against every angsty bone in my body, that I could've stayed in the Olympus.

* * *

71 percent of the planet is covered in oceans. 71 percent of the planet is my father's domain. 71 percent of the planet was my home. And almost every percent of that 71 bored me to death.

It's one thing to go diving or watch documentaries about the sea. (Those Planet Earth specials did a damn good job.) It's another thing to be stuck under the surface of the world for three years. Three years without proper human contact. Three years with resentful families members. Three years with only one friend to keep you company.

I saw Balthazar before I saw my family, escaping to my room before they could catch me. Before Amphitrite could sneer at me. Before Rhode could make some nasty remark about my hair. Before my dad could inquire intensively about my experience above ground.

Bal swam through the open window and circled around the room while I shoved my bags into the closet. "What's with the hair?" he greeted.

"Nice to see you again, too," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

I sunk into the bed slowly as he swam above me, every so often butting against me. "What's been going on down here?" I asked, tying my hair back.

"The typical pre-war shtick."

"Sounds fun," I sighed.

"How was Olympus?"

"It was nice."

"Not as bad as you thought?"

"No, I actually made some friends."

"Yeah, who?"

"Like Apollo and–"

If sharks could laugh, I'm sure he did. "You made friends with him?"

"Yes, I did."

"Friends or friends-friends?"

"Shut up." My cheeks flushed.

He drew out figure eights between the posts of the bed while he swam. It wasn't bad having a shark as a friend. Especially since we had both practically outcasted ourselves from society. He was the bad boy and I was the weird girl and somehow we made things work. He told me about all the trouble he got into and I told him about all the trouble I wished I could get into. It was a good balance between us.

"Alright, alright. But, hey, I found some stuff out."

"About?"

"Your mom."

My heart tied itself in a knot. Forget the Lost Colony. Croatoan had nothing on this mystery. My mother's identity was unknown to the vast majority of the gods, with the exception of a few. My mother. The one who gave birth to me. It felt like an inalienable right to know who she was, but I was left in the dark without so much as a match.

Now, Balthazar had a match.

"What'd you find?"

"Well I heard your father talking to Triton about how your conception was planned. He said that your mother's reappearance in the outer realms was extremely unexpected."

"What does that mean?"

"That means your conception was some sort of scheme and that your mom is a sneaky bitch."

"Hey," I snapped. "Only I can shit-talk my mom."

"Sorry."

The knock on the door made my heart stop in my chest. Literally stop. I went a good seven seconds without feeling a thump. The knock threw Balthazar's match back into the depths of darkness and I shooed him out of the window, calling, "Come in."

My dad entered with a smile on his face, completely unfazed by what he probably overheard. He sat on the end of the bed, his hand wrapped around one of the posts. "How are you?"

"I'm good. How are you?"

He nodded, "Hanging in there. So, tell me about your stay."

I shrugged, "What about it?"

"You could start with your hair," he grinned.

"I wanted a change."

"Was Hermes' okay?"

"Yeah, it was nice. Big place. Especially for just one guy."

"That's Olympians."

"Yeah," I nodded, quietly toying with my fingers.

"Have you unpacked?"

"No, not yet."

"Have you had lunch?"

"No, not yet."

"Alright, after you unpack, come downstairs and I'll make you something to eat."

If there was a competition for best dad that abandoned you as a child, Poseidon would have easily won. After sixteen years of harboring a grudge against a man I didn't even know, it was hard not to abandon it after I met him. It was hard to hate someone so kind and caring, so humble and dad-ish, so understanding and guilty. I would like to imagine it was just as hard for him to leave me as it was for me to be left.

* * *

Simply put, Atlantis is a underwater city. Think of converting New York City to all Greek architecture, then submerging it underwater several miles away from the coast of the actual New York City, that's Atlantis. In the same way that Olympus was all about silver and gold, Atlantis was all about marble. It was what you would have imagined Ancient Greece to be like, minus the sea life and lack of breathable oxygen.

The palace alone seemed to span miles. Miles of hallways and courtyards and gardens and rooms and secret passageways and everything a palace should have. And it had the most important thing a palace should have: an incredibly confusing and complex floor plan that I got completely lost in at least more than twenty times.

My room was in a newer wing of the castle, a more Romanesque one. In order to get to the kitchen from my room you had to cross through four courtyards, the throne room, and a series of other useless chambers. At a leisurely pace, it took about fifteen minutes. But I was hungry, so it only took about five.

Just as expected, Poseidon had whipped up the only thing he could really efficiently prepared: seaweed rolls. He presented them to me like I had never seen one before and watched me eat them like I had never tasted one before.

I was about to compliment him, when that familiar voice I had been trying to avoid echoed throughout the kitchen. "Oh my gosh. What the hell happened?"

Rhode swam through the open door, hands on her hips, pretending to hold back obnoxious laughter. "When was the accident?"

Poseidon sighed, "Rhode, be nice." Even though he knew she wouldn't be nice. Rhode was almost physically incapable of being nice.

She rested her elbows on the counter and popped on of the seaweed rolls into her mouth. "Heard about you and Apollo."

"Me and Apollo, what?" I snapped.

"Calm down, Stevenson." She glanced up at Poseidon. "Apollo left Eos for Quorra."

Before my father could finish raising his eyebrow, I stammered, "That's not what happened!"

"Why are you so defensive?"

"Because I knew this was gonna happen."

"What was going to happen?"

"That if I went to the Solstice with him, everyone was gonna think he left her for me. But that's not what happened. And I told him this was exactly what was going to happen–"

"Then why'd you go with him?"

"Because he guilted me into it."

"Oh," she giggled. "He guilted you, huh?"

"Rhode, she's been back for a couple of hours. Would you give her a break?" My father looked annoyed and slightly perturbed.

"Come on. You don't want your daughter getting involved with him, do you?"

He pressed his lips into a flat line. "I'd rather she not, but there's not much I can do if she does, can I?"

Rhode shrugged as they exchanged an exclusive glance. She pushed her platinum blonde hair out of her peachy face and twirled it in her finger, her tail swishing back and forth across the floor. My dad looked steadily out of the window into one of the courtyards, his hands mindlessly playing with a knob on the cabinet. They were both experts at trying to ignore me. But I wasn't going to put up with that. "Hold up," I interrupted. "What's wrong with Apollo?"

Rhode smirked, "So you've been thinking about him–"

"No, but–but I'm friends with him so…"

Rhode glanced up at my father before she began talking. "Apollo's very promiscuous."

"So?"

"Apollo has a reputation with his women. Not that you'd be one of them, but… He's not a moral man, whether it be with a lover or–."

"What Rhode means to say is that Apollo has a reputation for being not only a cruelly promiscuous person, but he's a bad influence as well–"

"A bad influence–" I scoffed.

"Quorra, he's done some bad things–"

"You've all done bad things–"

"But him more than others. And not just things that we've all done. Mutinous things."

The only thing I could think to say was a defensive, "Okay."

"Do you get where I'm coming from?" he asked.

"Yeah," I nodded.

"Good."

Yeah, I understood. I understood where he was coming from. I understood what he was referring to. I understood just about everything that needed to be understood. But, I really didn't want to.

* * *

It was the night that made me the most angry and the most sad. Staring out the window, at the moon's fragmented form rippling on the surface of the water, was no cure, but it always seemed to help. It always made me feel less lonely, even if the person on the other side was someone I didn't like.

The moon was pure in the way that I wanted to be pure. Untouched and soft. Solid. It was crisp like the pages of a new book. Yet time after time it was read through, flipped through, it was still the same new, clean book.

And that's what I really needed during the night. A little stability.

I never really liked talking about my life, because it never really seemed like a story. It seemed like a nightmare. No. A hallway full of nightmares, one behind each door and another behind your back. You couldn't go back, only forward, through door after door.

The door that Olympus was behind was a half-assed nightmare. Like the creator said "fuck it" half way through and gave it some weak, recycled plot line, then let the rest take care of itself. That's what Olympus was. A _fuck it_. The Greeks threw some ideas around about what the world meant and that's what they got. A bunch of _fuck it_ s. Sentient _fuck it_ s.

And a couple of those _fuck it_ s threw my life together, then tossed me into the real world. And, in the real world, being a _fuck it_ wasn't really a good forte.

But Olympus? Home of the _fuck it_ s.

Maybe that's why things were better there.

Maybe that's why I made some friends pretty easily. Maybe that's why I felt a little more at ease. Maybe that's why I dyed my hair.

If Hermes, Apollo, and Hebe were the Three Musketeers, I was the other one, d'Artagnan. I was the one they took under their wing and said, "Hey, let's teach this kid how to be a real _fuck it._ "

And, for a while, I sort of liked being a _fuck it_.

* * *

In a sort of cruel, coincidental way, not only was my life a series of nightmares, but my unconsciousness was plagued with them as well. After I drifted to sleep that night, I had one. One that left me breathless and shaking, sweating even. When I had finished calming myself down, the curtains flowing ominously in the windows and the mirror peeking out from the bathroom took their turn toying with my nerves, so I wrapped myself in a blanket and escaped through the maze of the castle, without looking over my shoulder, without pushing open cracked doors, straight to the kitchen.

I was stuffing my face with deep fried seaweed when the water cooled. I spun towards the doorway, my hand gripping the handle of a kitchen knife stored in its block. The hot blue-green glow of the Greek fire highlighted my father's figure as he stood in the door. He relaxed when his eyes recognized my face. "I thought it was you."

"Sorry," I peeped, letting go of the blade.

He shook his head and met me by the long row of cabinets. His hand reached upwards, above the cabinets and scooped something from the top. He unwrapped some aluminum foil to reveal a half-eaten bar of chocolate. Breaking two pieces off, he grinned, "Don't tell Amphitrite I have this," and handed a piece to me.

"I won't," I whispered. As we chewed, the silence grew deadly, tempting. So naturally, I tested the waters. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Why–why can't I know about my mom?"

His jaw tightened. "Quorra, my _relationship_ with your mother is complicated."

"But–"

"She's dangerous, sweetheart. I don't want to put you in harm's way."

"Dad–"

"Quorra, you're going to have to trust me on this one."

I nodded in surrender. If it were any other person, I would've been ready to fight to the death for information, but he had a way about him that just made you want to believe him, that made you lay down your guns and hope for the best.

He must've seen the disappointment in my face. He must've felt guilty for some reason. He must've or else he wouldn't have said, "You look like her."

"Is that bad?"

"No, she's very beautiful."

I laughed, "I see what you're doing."

"What am I doing?" he smiled.

"You think complimenting me will make me feel better."

"Does it not?" he said sarcastically.

Our laughter echoed down the hall. Down the hall, took a left and then hit a guard's ear. Twenty seconds into our outburst, the merman hurtled into the room at full speed. His hands strained around the spear, shaking ever so slightly. When his eyes scanned over the scene, his grip slackened. My father smiled and assured him that there was no threat. After he slipped back down the hall, my dad turned back to me, the gentle grin gone. "What brought you down here?"

"Nightmare."

He nodded, turning his chin up. "You're still having those?"

"Had 'em since I was little. I don't think it's gonna change anytime soon."

"You know we can have Dionysus look at you."

"Dad, I might be crazy, but not that kind of crazy."

"He does general things, too."

"You make him sound like he used to be a specialist, but then he decided to go into a general practice because he needed the money."

"That's kind of how we all are. For example, your friend Apollo had to pick up Helios' job after he faded."

"Faded?"

"That's the god's equivalent of death. They fade out of existence."

"Like Pan?"

"Yes, like Pan." He looked at the clock and sighed, "I think we've been up for long enough. Go get some rest."

He had the same guard we had given a heart attack escort me back to my room. My quiet, lonely room. I sat down on the bed, which was a lot harder than the one at Hermes'. I wrapped myself in the sheets, which were a lot scratchier than the ones at Hermes'. I rested my head on the pillow, which was a lot thinner that the one at Hermes'. I laid there, squeezing my eyelids closed, wishing I would wake up at Hermes'.


	3. Chapter 3

So this took me a while to crank out, because I was so caught up with writing future stuff. Anyway, I hope this satisfies. Please review.

* * *

Atlantis was a lot like New York. Huge and separated into different portions: I could've lived my entire life there and I would not have been able to see all of it. Among the many buildings and structures were many homes and many lives; mermen and sharks and dolphins and other sea creatures of the sort. Anything that allied with my father could seek refuge in the city of Atlantis.

Around the entirety of the city was a wall with special fortifications every half mile or so. Smaller walls spread through the rest of the city, dividing it into sectors. Within each of the 8 sectors were specific headquarters that were in charge of keeping the city organized and connected. During wartime, these spots became the headquarters for battle operations and planning. We had captains from every sector and every branch of the army swarming the palace. At first, it was every week or so, but as the war progressed it became every day. And as the war progressed even further, there were fewer captains and representatives showing.

This went on for eleven months. Within the first three months, we lost the northernmost sector, but somehow managed to reclaim it. Then, it fell again two weeks later. After that, it was just like dominos. In the eleventh month, it was just the capital sector that was left.

The city was a scab that kept getting picked at. No matter how many times it crusted over, something kept preventing it from healing up. The blood kept gushing from the cracks, flakey maroon hung by sticky threads. And somewhere within the wound, somewhere deep inside something wasn't settled right, something wasn't clean, something was infected.

The main difference between war above ground and war below ground was movement. The way buildings crumbled, the way blood spread throughout the water. The way you could watch things spinning towards you just a second or so slower than normal and you think you can get out of the way in time but you're moving at the exact same pace and then it hits you…

I think it broke. The bridge of my nose throbbed and gold spread out from my nostrils. In the shimmer, I saw Rhode storm away from me, her dark tail swishing in the water, her silver mass of hair following her like a puff of smoke. And just like smoke she disappeared, dissipated.

"You shouldn't have said that," Triton sighed, waving the ichor away from him.

"She was pissing me off," I huffed. "I'm just tired of having to take her shit."

"Yeah, well you might not have to deal with her for much longer," he frowned. His hands were stationed and poised at the sides of the meeting table. The edges of the map curled around his fingers. Sprinkles of the caved in ceiling scattered themselves across the map every so often. He talked me through the plan, his mouth running a marathon: seemingly endless.

After his words had left out the Quorra-centric chapter, I asked, "What about me?"

"You're gonna stay here," he nodded.

I slammed my hands onto the table, "Like hell I am–"

"Quorra, you aren't ready–"

"You trained me–"

"Yeah, I trained you. I trained you for three years. Everyone that's out there has been training for longer than you've been alive, Quorra. Regardless of whether they're on our side–"

"Then why didn't you train me better–"

"It isn't my fault you don't try hard enough–"

"I do try hard enough. You just don't every give me a fucking chance. You always have this preconceived notion that I'm gonna be shit at everything you want me to do, but you never gave me the opportunity to prove you wrong. Never–"

He dragged me. I've only been physically dragged a few times in my life. And in those few times, my arm never popped out of its socket. Triton popped my arm out of its socket. As we got to the front lines and he saw my limp arm, he shoved it back into place then shoved me towards some merman dressed in battle armor. "This is Timnes. Timnes, this is Quorra. You're in charge of her now."

The merman paled and he lunged for my brother. "Lord Triton, I can't possibly– What if something happens to her?"

"Then it'll be her own damn fault. If Poseidon gets on you, I'll take the blame. She wants action. Give her action."

* * *

Nothing happened for a while.

That's not a complaint. Just an observation.

While we were waiting, I checked out the rest of Timnes' crew.

It seemed to be a special task force, or whatever they're called. There were a couple other mermen besides Timnes, a dolphin and a cyclops. All the beings with opposable thumbs were stacked with all sorts of weapons. Everyone was decked in armor and wore grimaces that seemed to be sewn into their skin. Timnes handed me a sword, some knives, and found some armor that was just a bit too big but would do for now.

We waited until he got a cue before we headed through the castle to the outskirts of town. "What's the plan?" I asked, trying to keep up with their pace.

"Don't die," one of the mermen hissed.

We crept down an alley near the edge of town that thinned as we crawled further into it. The corpses of the buildings were stripped to their skeletons as we reached the end of the alley. Only a single, collapsed column held the two walls from falling into each other.

I felt my heartbeat in my fingertips, my blood flowing further away from the surface my body, chilling in the depths of the ocean. I was going to die. My body was just making the preparations. While the rest of the team crawled over the column, I felt **their** bodies lose temperature, their skin bleached, their lips trembling. Trembling down to their tails, scales..

My fingers glided over the scarred marble column. The grooves that ran down its length were accompanied by fractures like trenches. I pressed the flesh of my finger over the edge, the jagged cliff, the split stone flesh split my own. Ichor streamed and dispersed into the water, swirling around the crumbles of marble.

When the salt water met the cut and stung the severed skin, the adrenaline woke from slumber and spread its venom throughout my every limb. If there was a switch for the fight or flight reflex, mine would have been turned on fight and to the highest notch. My blood boiled and my bones shook. I was hot, furiously hot. Furiously furious.

He was dead before I could kick my body into gear. Timnes' blood spread like a noxious gas. The warmth licked my flesh and I felt myself moving forward before my mind could say no. Before any logic, rationale, common sense. I threw myself out of the alley, out of the crevice. Into the open air, into danger, into death. I was the deer in headlights that was ready to take those headlights on.

I try to block out most of what happens in these sorts of circumstances. But I can never forget the blood and dust and grime and sweat and exhaustion and death. Death is hard to forget, especially when the adrenaline runs out and you're left in a sea of cold bodies. Cold, dead bodies that are drifting on the floor of the ocean. Cold, dead bodies that were put there by your hands. Cold and dead bodies.

The cyclops dragged me off as I collapsed into a quivering heap. I quivered in that heap for what seemed like hours. I quivered like those bodies did as they lost their lives. And that's all I thought about. They were dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead…

"Quorra, get up."

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead…

"Quorra."

Dead, dead, dead…

"Kid, come on."

Dead…

"You're gonna be okay, kid. Just get up."

"They're all dead." My voice was hoarse.

"They were going to kill you. You wanna be dead?"

"They're all dead." I shook my head.

Triton hoisted me up by the straps on the armor. Before he could scold me, I was screaming, "They're dead, Tri. They're all dead. I killed them. I killed them all, Tri. Tri, I killed them–"

He threw me into the wall in disgust. While I murmured on and on still, he flipped out his dagger and buried it into the crevice of my collarbone. And when I screamed this time, it wasn't any more guilt-stricken moan. It was a white hot yell. White hot retaliation. "What the fuck," I screamed, pushing him back and ripping the knife from my flesh. "That fucking hurts, you asshole."

I cradled my shoulder, trying to nurse it back to health, before he so rudely interrupted me. I was back against the wall, the knife at my throat. "Listen, you're a good fighter, kid, but next time I see you screaming and crying over protecting your own, I'm gonna take your tongue. Understand?"

I nodded carefully underneath the pressure of the blade. His sneer relaxed and he let me loose. He motioned me to follow him and we returned to the throne room where my father and Amphitrite peered over the master map–the mosaic that mapped out armies and areas in real time.

My dad sighed heavily as he saw me. When he did, his armor seemed to collapse into him, breaking his old, rusty joints. If you were to ask me what my dad looked like 8 months ago, you wouldn't have been able to pick that man out of a line up of people in the throne room. That man died and was replaced by the old guy leaning on the staff and breathing somewhat heavily. He was an old man, not a god.

Amphitrite, on the other hand, was heathy enough to maintain her animosity towards me. She rolled her eyes when my dad breathed, "Oh, thank heavens."

"What? Don't you trust me?" I smiled weakly, shrugging half-heartedly.

He pulled me into his arms, "Not enough, apparently."

Sinking into his embrace, I felt like crying again. I felt like screaming again. But Triton was there. Triton was watching me. And if I threw another scene, my dad would never let me out again. Never trust me again.

After Delphin came in, my dad sent me out to go find new armor. Which really meant I wasn't supposed to know what they were going to talk about. Which was fine, because I was fine with not knowing at the moment.

Believe it or not, my dad's pretty good at hiding things. Actually, he is incredibly good. So good that when I saw the kid with dark hair and green eyes swim past me, I had no clue who he was. But he smelled different. He smelled like my dad. He looked like my dad. He looked like me.

I forgot about the armor. I forgot about the discomfort that was driving me to actually obey my father and I started to tail him. Tail the kid with the hair like mine. Tail the kid with the eyes like mine. Tail the kid with the nose like mine. Tail the kid with almost everything like mine.

I followed him until he got to the throne room, where I ducked behind the door frame and listened. I listened to the voices echoing. I listened to my father's scratchy sighs, Triton's cocky scoffs, Amphitrite's bored retorts and Delphin's chattering compliance. And then there it was. The hesitant whisper, soft but slightly raspy. "Dad?"

I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to convince myself the cyclops that had been following him had said it. Trying to convince myself that the kid was anything other than family. Trying to convince myself that this wasn't yet another thing that my father hid from me.

Then, there it was.

"Hello, Percy." He scratched a reply into the space like nails on chalkboard, clawing at my ears and pinching my nerves.

I felt the heat climbing up my throat. I wanted to yell and scream and cry and most of all I wanted to hurt someone. I wanted to hurt someone the way that I was hurting at that moment. I wanted everyone to suffer just like I was suffering. I balled my fists, trying to concentrate my anger into the packed skin and bone. But it wasn't enough. So I went to the only place I could be almost as reckless as I wanted.

* * *

When they pulled me back to the castle, I was soaked in blood. Some mine, some others. Mostly others. And I mostly felt just like I did when I came back the first time. Mostly.

There was still that seed of anger. That thorned root stuck at the pit of my heart. I stormed into the throne room and threw my sword to the ground. My dad watched lazily, guiltily as I seethed. "Who was he?" I demanded.

"Who?"

"You know who! Who was the kid?"

"He's my son."

I nodded my head, blinking the hot tears away. "Your son. Okay. So I guess I wasn't a big enough mistake or did you leave me to be with his mom or–or–"

"Quorra, he and his mother have nothing to do with you–"

"Then why didn't you tell me about him!"

"Because I knew you'd be upset."

"So you were just going to keep him hidden from me forever? How's that working out for you, huh?"

"Sweetheart–"

"Don't 'sweetheart' me. How many others are there?"

"It's just you, Percy and Finn."

I focused on balling and un-balling my fists before I erupted again. In a low, controlled whisper, I asked, "How long were you with her?"

"Quorra–"

"How long?"

"A year or so," he breathed. "But, Quorra, that doesn't matter–"

"Well, it feels like it does matter! It feels like it does when you kept him a secret from me. It feels like it does when you spend all this time with this woman and you leave me and Finn for shit. And you said you were doing it to protect me. And that may be true, but it doesn't feel true when you're over here having kids left and–" I choked on my anger. My hands cradled the sides of my face as I struggled to regain composure.

"Quorra, your situation was different–"

"How?"

"It's complicated–"

"Complicated. Oh, I get it. It's just another secret to keep from me–"

"Quorra–"

"I don't get it, Poseidon. I don't get any of what's going on. I don't even get why you even wanted me back, why you ever brought me here. You know, because if I was fine on my own for all those years–"

"Quorra–"

"Please, just stop. Okay? Please just stop even trying to explain things when the only thing you've got is 'It's complicated.' Because I'm so tired of people telling me that. I'm so tired of it."

It was quiet for a while. Quiet to where I could hear him breathing and he could hear me struggling to not cry. And the air felt cold and tasted bitter. And I felt myself feeling all the anxiety again. All the fear that drained my blood and stiffened my core.

"Your mother–I–The only time I encountered your mother directly was at the time of your conception. Before that point she hadn't been seen in the Olympian realms for many centuries. After I...encountered her, she disappeared just like before and wasn't heard from. Obviously, this sparked the interests of the council and through several covert operations, we were able to trace her and learn that she was with child. The decision was made that it would be in our best advantage to acquire you and keep you safe so that is what we did. We hid you where we thought she wouldn't look and abandoned almost all contact with you in order to seem inconspicuous. Then we retrieved you once that plan had failed."

I wanted to think it over. I wanted to plan something. Trick him into telling me more, giving me more. But my mind wasn't working like that. My mind was all anger. "I don't get it. How is that inconspicuous–" I blurted.

"The immortal scent you have on you mixed well with the scents of your brother and your friend. We decided that the concentration of half-bloods in your location was enough to throw her off scent. Besides, you and your brother share the same essence so it's feasible that he could've had a stronger scent–"

"But I don't get why you didn't keep me–"

"Because keeping you with us was the literal safest place to hide you. However, it was also the most obvious place to hide you and we were not going to take chances."

"So you hid me with a crazy psychopath and another one of your illegitimate children and left?"

"It was in your best interest."

"I don't need you telling me what's in my best interest."

"Perhaps not anymore. But an infant needs protection and I did my best to give that to you."

At that very moment, it felt like every bad thing that had happened in my life was his fault. Like he was to blame for everything, even my own dumb mistakes. After all, if he hadn't fucked my mom, then I wouldn't be around to fuck up so much. "I hate you a lot right now," I murmured.

He nodded, "I understand." When I looked at him, really looked at him, he looked a lot older than he had when I started yelling. Like I had drained the very life from him. He moved his weight off of the staff and headed towards the door. "You should go find some better armor. We have a war to fight."

"Yeah, okay," I nodded.

* * *

I hate war. I hate it because it doesn't really ever resolve anything. If anything, it creates a lot more problems than it solves. It burns towns and murders families. And when you think you're fighting against evil, against those people burning towns and murdering families, you're really just burning the towns and murdering the families of other people, the evil people. It just feels like you're fighting fire with fire and then suddenly you're just ashes.

After Triton threw me into battle, I started having problems. Anger problems. Before I could fight, the only thing I could do was yell and throw things. But now I could kill. Efficiently, too. And it's not exactly the best idea to mix almost uncontrollable rage with deadly skill. I guess the only positive thing I could say at this point was that I was motivated and confident.

Cocky. That's what I was. I was cocky. I was dangerously cocky.

I don't really remember the specific point in time when I realised that the finale was here. Maybe it was when Oceanus was within a dangerous range. Maybe it's when I started getting hurt and it actually slowed me down. Nevertheless, even my cockiness wavered when I realised this was it. I could be dead any time now.

I pulled Triton into a collapsed temple as ichor poured out from underneath his breastplate. "Are you okay?"

He gulped and nodded, a pained expression on his face, "Yeah, just give me a minute. You go on."

"But…"

"But what?"

"Nothing. I just thought–I thought things would be easier if we both…you know."

He pulled his extra sword from his sheath and pressed it into my hand. "Consider this me putting my trust in you."

I gripped the hilt of the sword in my left hand, comparing its weight to my own sword. It was heavier than I had expected. Heavier than I, on my own, could handle. But with the extra shot of adrenaline–the extra shot of cockiness–the sword felt close to perfect. "Trust accepted."

* * *

The thing that's scariest about being a monster is knowing that you are one. Knowing that you're what people fear and despise. The consciousness of it all is suffocating.

I came across my own monstrosity after I left Triton in the cave. Returning to the battlefield, I saw my father facing the Titan head on. Poseidon and Oceanus were so wrapped up in the blue green energy of death and destruction that the rest of us were seemingly alone, confused as to whether we should stop and stare or continue fighting.

If I looked to my right, I could see Amphitrite tying Leviathan in knots. If I looked to my left, I could Briares was destroying just about everything in sight. And if I looked in front of me, I could see Keto's half-crazed, half-scheming smile. Her eyes glimmered. Glimmered. Glimmered delicately. Like light dancing over the dark caverns of bloodlust hidden deep within her skull. And when I finished looking into her dark blue eyes, the rest of her didn't seem so foreign. She was crazy. And crazy was as familiar to me as water...or air...or blood.

When you put on your crazy glasses, things seem less intimidating, because crazy is an explanation for something that we can't quite understand. And that, in itself, isn't really a comforting thought, but at least there's a word for it. There's a word other than the unknown to describe what is going on.

She hefted her spear from the sand and waved it around like a wand. I tightened my hands around the grips of the blades and breathed deeply. I could deal with crazy. Crazy was easy. Crazy was natural. And then I started smiling. And I don't know whether it was the crazy or the cocky that made me do it, but I did it without any conscious thought.

Metal hitting metal is one thing. The sharp clang at first pierces your ears, putting that awful aching feeling in your jaw, but once you've heard it several times, it's like a piece of music. Clang, clang, clang. And the fighting is like a dance to go with it. You step this way, I step that way. You lunge, I counter. Around and around until someone loses their footing.

She hissed at me while we spun, snarls that cut through the melodies, trying to tip me off balance. "So you're Poseidon's bastard. I see he finally found a way to get rid of you."

"You know, I can see why he abandoned you. You're not exactly the most desirable goddess, are you?"

"Tell you what, dearie. You go get your brother and you can watch real gods fight."

While I wouldn't consider it losing your footing if your feet weren't on the ground in the first place, I'm not a sore loser. I fucked up. I fucked up and I went flying. Flying across the sea floor. Flying across the battlefield. My head planted itself among the coral on the mountain and my sight blurred.

Before my vision could focus, before my body could move, she came at me again and I panicked.

There's this thing us gods can do. A thing that can destroy almost everything around us. A thing that can rejuvenate us in an instant, make us stronger. Yet, a thing that makes us more vulnerable. But, it was my only option at that point. So I did it. I willed the rest of my strength, the rest of my motivation into summoning my divine form.

And it worked.

There's no doubt about that.

But I fucked up.

Again.

I was too slow.

By the time, my vision cleared and I felt my skin burning white hot, her spear had already made its way into my abdomen.

And it hurt.

It hurt a lot worse than I was expecting.

But something was different. Something that made me look at her face and not see her face. Something that made me look at her face and see my mother's face–my brother's mother's face. And whatever that something was made me more mad than I had ever been. And that something drew from everything. From my dad, from my mom, from the Olympians, from the Gods, from Keto, from the world, from my own mind and soul. That something was everything that had ever made me upset. And it made me see her face.

There were times when I was a kid when I got so angry I felt like erupting into volcano of violence: throwing things, hurting people, doing anything I could to make everything around me look how I felt. Every time I felt like that, there was a small sensation in the pit of my stomach, a dense feeling, like every bit of pain and anguish was balling itself up at the base of my spine.

It was only during that moment–when that blade was buried into my gut–that I had actually felt something other than that little knot. I felt that little knot explode, spread through my veins and nerves, poison every cell in my body. And then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the long wait. I'm in the midst of lots of school stuff right now. Hopefully I'll get some more stuff up in a couple of weeks. Thanks for reading and review/critique please.

* * *

When war's over, it's sometimes worse than the actual war itself. For the first time, people get to step back and see how much damage was done. See how much it will take to restore–or attempt to restore–what once was. And understanding how much will never be the same–that's sometimes worse than experiencing the destruction itself.

Things weren't necessarily destroyed. Not physically. But the faces of the citizens, knowing that their children's, their brother's and sister's bodies had laid lifeless on the face of Mount Tamalpais–Mount Othrys–until plucked up by their other wounded brothers, sisters, and children, their faces showed the destruction, their minds held the damage. And the Legion saw that.

The Legion and the administration of New Rome did their best to brighten the faces of their citizens, but it took a lot longer than anyone had anticipated. Many legionnaires, who had not yet completed their service, were granted permission to retire if they showed signs that they were unable to continue serving. And though most of the retirees, while few, had legitimate reasons to retire, there were always few who attempted to take advantage of the system.

"So you want me to allow you to retire, even though you're only done with eight years of service and show no obvious signs of impairment?"

He smiled smugly, placing his intertwined hands on her desk, which she immediately pushed off with the tip of her pen. "Sam, Samantha, listen. We both know that I am, virtually, of no value. I've never been of value throughout these eight years and I won't be of value for the next two. I think we can both agree that I am of no service to this legion. Plus, I've already got a job lined up at the aqueducts. And we both know I'd be great at that. Samantha, in a time of recovery–"

"Enough of the bullshit." Sam rolled her steely blue eyes and flicked the corner of the paper with her index finger. After drawing several invisible circles into the desk with the capped pen, she sighed, "Listen, I don't like you. And, as much as I'd like to keep you in here, make you suffer just a little longer, I'm not going to be here to enforce that–"

"Wait, you're leaving?" His face practically lit up.

"Yes–"

"Oh, shit, man. Samantha the Great's rule has come to an end. Let us tell the citizens! Joyous day!" He jumped out of his seat and pretended head for the door.

"Do you want me to release you or not?"

He sat down almost immediately, face erased of enthusiam. "Yes, I would."

She pressed her lips into a flat line and regarded the paper again. "I've decided that it is to both the city of New Rome's and the Legion's benefit to release you from service. If you could fill this out and–"

He snatched the paper from her, tipping over the cup of pens as he grabbed one of them, and furiously began scribbling down as much of the requested information as fast as possible. He was done in about a minute flat and he slammed the paper back down in front of her.

"Your full name is Finnegan Gray Stevenson? Finnegan?"

"Just sign it," Finn snapped.

Slowly, Sam swirled her name onto the line at the bottom of the page. When she dotted the _i_ in Collins, Finn rose from his seat at the speed of light, throwing the chair onto its back with the force of his locking knees and ran to the exit. He pushed the heavy wooden door open and smelled the fresh air dramatically. As his hand rested on the doorframe gingerly, he gazed back at the glaring blonde sitting behind the Praetor's desk. "Listen, Sam, there's something I've been wanting to say to you," he murmured innocently. As she raised her eyebrow, he stuck his hands out to her, both middle fingers boldly lonesome from the rest of his digits, and shouted, "Fuck you!"

* * *

My finger was the first piece of me to wake from slumber. From there, the consciousness spread up my arm, tangled in my shoulders, tickled my neck… When my eyes fluttered open, everything they saw was a pool of pure white. As I stared up, I couldn't help but think about how dreary heaven was if this was all it was. Just white. And just as I started to think that, beams of gray spelled out grids and inside those grids were dark specks and I realised what I was looking at was a ceiling. And then I thought if this was heaven, it seriously needed a new interior decorator.

I followed the grids down to where the ceiling met the drywall. Down to where the end of the bed cut off my view of the wall. Then down to where what I assumed were my legs were hidden underneath the pale blue and white sheets. Up the sheets to my stomach and beside my stomach to my arm, down my arm to my hand and down my hand to my finger where the little plastic white monitor was hugging it tightly.

That's when everything registered. That's when I realised I wasn't dead. That's when my heart rate spiked. And then people started flooding into the room, people I didn't know. And as soon as they were in my room, my eyes were closed again. And when I opened them, there were still people there–only they were different people.

Apollo's swoosh of blonde hair was the next first thing I saw. His gaze flicked over to mine when the little heart monitor finger thing started making the other heart monitor machine thing beep. Just briefly, as he saw my eyes open, I saw a little glimpse of unease, a little hesitation. But he pasted a thick layer of joy over it and made sure to wipe the edges clear of extra glue before he thought I could pick up on it.

When I looked at my dad and Zeus sitting in the chairs again the wall, they had those same pasted smiles. The guy by the door, though, was too concerned with discreetly sipping from the water bottle that was obviously not filled with water to even bother looking relatively interested in me.

I met my hands at the peak of my stomach and pulled the monitor off. My eyelids felt oddly heavy and another weight had also sunken to the base of my back. There was also a throbbing in my stomach, on the right side, especially when I breathed in and my abdomen swelled, but when my fingers searched for the cause, they were intercepted by Apollo's. He shook his head. And then I realised what it was. And then everything came flooding back.

I sat up as fast as my still half-unconscious body would allow and pressed my hands to my face, feeling its cavities and contours warm with life. I slapped my cheeks for good measure and looked over at my dad, who was sitting there slightly alarmed. I wanted to ask if we had won, if that's why everyone in this room wasn't six feet under ground, but all I could get out was a scratchy, "Dead?"

That seemed to amuse them all and I heard Apollo's muffled laughter. Poseidon shook his head, "No." I nodded and stretched my fingers out in front of me. As I began to crack the joints in my fingers, my dad spoke again, "How are you feeling?"

I looked up at him, then at Zeus, and sighed "Hungry."

The little smile wrinkles in his eyes deepened as he laughed, "I bet. We'll get you some food here in a little bit."

Before he could explain himself, I blurted, "Why are you all here?"

That's when those pasted smiles started to peel. Zeus looked down and my father's gaze met Apollo's. Apollo turned to me, his eyes searching like they were when he was trying to figure out why someone was lying, "What's the last thing you remember? Before waking up."

I looked down at my hands. My nails were longer than I remembered. "Uhm," I breathed. "Probably getting stabbed?"

"Probably?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"So you don't remember anything after...you know–"

"Apollo, let her breathe," Poseidon cut in exasperatedly.

Apollo held his hands up in defense. And then it was quiet for a while. So I thought. "No… Everything went black after…" And then I remembered it. Her face. I remembered his mother's face. I remembered his mother's face and the wound in my stomach started to throb. I felt like vomiting.

"After what?" Apollo asked, a hint of eagerness in his voice.

I shook my head, "I don't know. I–I just remember feeling really angry and then everything went black."

Everyone seemed disappointed when I said that. And my mind was moving really slowly anyways, so that was the moment, when everyone looked a little more dejected than they had, the moment when I realised that something wasn't right. That they were asking me what I remembered for a reason.

"Why?"

That took them back even more. Their eyes darted to each other like they were all waiting to see who was gonna rat the others out first.

Zeus cleared his throat, "Child. From what I've been told, while engaged in battle with Keto, you were witnessed summoning your divine form and were immediately stabbed afterwards. Instead of incapacitating you like it was naturally supposed to, it seemed that you were even more enlivened and twenty minutes later you were found nearly dead at the bottom of the ocean floor surrounded by Keto's carcass with no reasonable explanation as to how–"

"Wait–" I interrupted. I felt my heart rate go up and I didn't need that little monitor to tell me so.

"Brother, could you have phrased it in a different way–" Poseidon chided.

"A different way–"

"Yes, a different way–"

"I don't see why–"

"Ladies, come on now," the guy in the corner slurred. He pushed himself off of the wall and joined Apollo at the end of the bed. "The kid is obviously about to have a panic attack and you're over hear arguing about what she's already heard."

He left the corner of the bed and positioned himself directly beside me. He couldn't haven been much taller than me. His blue eyes were bloodshot and his mass of dark, curly hair was completely untamed. "Listen, kid. There's a lot of stuff going on in the world that is pretty inexplicable. Like 'how can particles be in two places at once' and 'why is the planet getting warmer?'" (Apollo muttered something about Global Warming, but the guy ignored him.) "And now we have you. The inexplicable little lady who is on the verge of death and somehow manages to destroy the thing that was about to destroy her almost beyond recognition, when, under normal circumstances, its almost physically impossible, even for us gods. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to search around in that little brain of yours and try to understand what exactly happened, which you don't seem to remember at this point, and make sure nothing is seriously wrong."

I would've muttered something sarcastic, but I was in too much shock. Instead, I let him place his fingers to my temples and closed my eyes when he told me to. "Now, I want you to think happy thoughts."

"Really?" I almost gasped.

"No, I want you to think back to when you were about to black out."

I heard someone stand up. "Dionysus, are you sure this is a good idea?" Zeus asked impatiently.

The short man sighed, "I'll try not to probe too much."

"But what if–"

"I mean no offense, Father, but you're making me nervous and I'd rather not screw this one up. Think back, kid."

And I did. And I thought of everything that I could remember. I thought of Keto. And I thought of the spear. And I thought of her face–how it changed. And how scared she looked. How scared his mother looked when I felt myself get angry–

* * *

He ran from the office, yipping and causing minor destruction, such as taking spears from soldiers and flinging them across the courtyard or turning their helmets completely around whilst still on their heads. He ran back to the barracks of the Fifth Cohort, sprinting down the lines of bunks in each of the barracks, "See you guys later! Ha! Sucks to be you, doesn't it?"

By the time he passed through the last barrack, the message had already been relayed and everyone was more or less annoyed at his incessant shouting. Even the kids at the end, his friends, completely ignored him. One boy hung down from the top of the bunk, teasing the girls underneath. In the adjacent bunk, another guy was completely enveloped in what looked like a massive encyclopedia. So enveloped, in fact, that when Finn dove onto his bunk, he didn't even look up.

"Four down, one to go," he announced, jostling the bookworm's legs. "You better get on it, because I don't think there's gonna be much wiggle room after she's gone."

"After she's gone?" The girl directly across from him stared at him with icy blue eyes, hooded by knitted brows. "What do you mean?"

He bit his lip at her, before relaxing his sultry expression. Turning to his other peers, he began calmly, "Samantha the Terrible is no more. Let us citizens unite under this great feeling of relief and peace now that our dictator has gone!"

"What a wonderful day it is, comrade!" the boy hanging down across from him shouted.

The two boys' banter continued until they were talking–almost shouting–in ridiculous Russian accents, throwing their arms about in enormous gestures. The girl with dark eyes began laughing hysterically, "We've got our own Hitler and Stalin."

At that, the boy reading the book set it down. "Actually, it would make more sense to say Hitler and Mussolini. I mean, when considering dictators, they're probably the most animated orators in history. And you can attribute a lot of how they got their following to their persuasiveness in–"

"No one asked for a history lesson, Gale," Finn groaned.

Gale sighed and went back to his book. Or, at least, he tried. As it reached its 60º peak, Finn snatched it from him. "So, Gale. When are you going to visit our most fearless leader?"

Gale lunged for the book, but Finn tossed it to the boy in the bunks. "Sebastian, give it."

"Answer the question first," Sebastian grinned.

Gale's gaze remained fixed on the book as he muttered, "Unlike you, I can't annoy her into kicking me out. So, excuse me for taking my time. Now, give it."

"You didn't answer the question," the girl with dark eyes teased, pushing him back with her foot.

Gale pulled his glasses off and folded them gently, placing them in his lap with great care. With a deep breath, he exhaled, "I don't understand everyone's obsession with leaving. We don't have that much time left. Why don't we just finish–"

"Gale, can I ask you something?" The joy that had been painted on Finn's face two seconds prior had been stripped. His arms crossed over her chest, his eyes shot daggers. When he jutted his jaw out, just slightly, he looked like the warrior he was supposed to be, the warrior he was genetically engineered to be. "What have you gotten from this? Because I think that what we've gained is just, you know, the strengthening of our ability to hate ourselves for what we are. They treat us like shit, Gale. You're smart. You're damn smart. But are you in the First Cohort? No. You're in Fifth. No one cares about you. All you do is read your fucking books and there's no reason you can't do that when we get out of here."

Gale's jaw clenched and his hands knotted, but he didn't say anything. His gaze dropped for a second, two seconds, three seconds, struggling to maintain his composure. But once he grasped it, he stared right back into Finn's gaze with unwavering indifference.

"Say something, damn it!"

"What do you want me to say, Finn?"

Finn was on the verge of losing complete control. "I want you to give me a reason why you're doing this–a reason why you always question my judgement–why you never trust me–"

Gale placed his glasses on the bedside table. "It's not that I don't trust you," he sighed, scanning the others before he faced Finn. "I don't trust your judgement. I don't trust your judgement, because you never think things through. You're impulsive and short-sighted. But that's why I'm here. I'm the one that thinks things through. I'm the one that keeps you in check. It's always been that way. The reason I let you go ahead with this was because I know that nothing bad is going to happen if you leave. In fact, it'll probably be better if you're not in this environment anymore. But, unlike you all, I have a sense of duty, so I'm going to stay."

Finn nodded, his jaw still jutted, "Well, that's good, because now you don't have to take care of me." He swung his legs off of the bed and stormed away. The blue eyed girl was close behind him and the other two were soon to follow. And then Gale was alone. Again.

* * *

There was a light slapping feeling on my face and I opened my eyes. Poseidon and Zeus were both on their feet now, staring at me over Dionysus' shoulders. When I gazed up at them, they seemed to relax a bit, but not much. Dionysus, on the other hand, looked a little annoyed. But instead of telling me why, he shrugged and turned towards the door, waving my dad and Zeus along. "You're good, kid. I'll see you in six months. Keep brushing."

The door closed behind the three of them. When Apollo lurched forward off the bed without any warning, I could tell he felt the same amount of nerves as I did. He went to the counter on the opposite side of the room and pulled out some medical supplies. He sat back down again with a pair of surgical scissors and nodded at me, "Pull up your shirt."

When I did, I saw the wound. It was about four inches across, somewhat healed, with wirey stitches jutting out. I started to dab my fingers into it, when Apollo's hand caught mine. "Nuh-uh," he grinned weakly. He worked swiftly and silently.

"Apollo," I whispered.

"Hmm?" he hummed.

"What's going on?"

He tensed up, his fingers paused on my stomach. "It's complicated," he whispered.

"It's always complicated," I huffed. I felt the tears budding in my eyes as I said that word. It stung. My throat ached. I rested my head on his shoulder. As my tears soaked his shirt, he stopped trying to cut away the plastic string and pulled me into him for a quick second. He pressed his lips to my forehead, like he always did when I cried, and pulled me back. "It's gonna be okay, kiddo."

I tried not to notice the way he almost choked on those words. Because he wasn't sure of them himself, so it wasn't exactly a lie. He choked on lies like babies choked on just about everything that wasn't mush. And I wanted to pretend I hadn't heard him struggle to swallow that first piece of solid food. I pretended well enough, until I looked in his eyes and saw that he wasn't just nervous. He was scared. He was scared of me.

"Please tell me," I peeped.

We were both taken aback by how pitiful I sounded. A little bit of the fear washed out of his face and he looked back down at my stomach. "I'll tell you when I find out myself." At that, he continued pulling out the last stitches, placed some sticky bandages over the incision and pulled my shirt back down. A few minutes later, they called him out into the hall and I was alone. Again.

* * *

Zeus' pinstriped suit looked obscenely out of place in the hospital. This place, though not used very often, was for the sick and the sick did not often wear suits that cost more than their medical bills. Even still, the same dejected look he shared with his brother made him look more the part.

Apollo exited the room wielding a small pair of scissors, which he tucked away upon inspection. "What's going on?" he asked.

The brothers turned to Dionysus who sighed, more from the fact that he would have to repeat himself than anything else. "From what I can tell, the kid's got powers that are along the line of what Bia had. When I flipped through the memories that were blocked from her, I found that what she did and what she was feeling was almost exactly the way people used to describe her–Bia, I mean. You know, before she..." He drew an invisible line across his throat.

In Dionysus' pause, Zeus continued, "After Dionysus presented us with this information, we quickly put together that the date of Bia's death was the exact date and most likely minute that Quorra was born."

"Which means that Nyx had a lot more in mind than we thought when she got herself knocked up," Dionysus sniggered.

Apollo nodded, "So now what?"

"Well, the kid's pretty clueless as to what she can do. From what I can tell, whatever's inside of her is pretty dormant. I went searching around a little and I couldn't find anything near the surface, you know, any residue. But still, there's enough there to want to have someone watch her. And probably more than one person at that."

Apollo stepped back, "Look, I like the kid well enough, but I'm not exactly cut out for taking care of her–"

Zeus waved his hand, "No, not you. We all know what a disaster that would be. Besides, it all depends where she resides. If she returns to Atlantis or not–"

"Why wouldn't she return to Atlantis?" Poseidon seemed a bit taken aback.

"Because it's destroyed."

"Olympus isn't in tip top shape either–"

"It's better than–"

"Listen," Dionysus interrupted, "it's my professional opinion, and I'm sure Apollo would agree no matter how much he will insist he can't take care of her, that it would be better if she stayed here with us. Not only is it not near the area of her break, but we're better suited to handle it. Generally speaking, our forces up here are better designed to deal with rampaging monsters."

Poseidon grimaced, "Well who would take care of her? Apollo's refused. Hermes' simply does not have the time."

"What about Hebe?" Apollo offered.

"Hebe," Zeus answered. "Yes, Hebe will be good. And Apollo and Hermes can watch her in their spare time. Alright, it's settled."


End file.
